


my ghost came by

by scepticallyopenminded



Series: Mad Max Kneeling 'Verse [2]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dealing with PTSD, Gen, Kneeling, Mental Health Issues, Moral Ambiguity, Platonic Kneeling, Somewhat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:12:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4326270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepticallyopenminded/pseuds/scepticallyopenminded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, he doesn’t need to stay as long as other times, but she needs him to. Needs to feel the press of his warm skin against her leg, needs to feel the presence of him there by her side, and he’ll stay long after he’s better, carefully watching her until she is, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my ghost came by

**Author's Note:**

> first off I loved writing this and would love to write more from Furiosa's POV
> 
> first part written by Schizzar from Max's POV, I would suggest reading that first
> 
> title from "I Will Be Blessed" by Ben Howard

Furiosa doesn’t see him for a few months. Which is completely fine, since she’s trying to build something of the Citadel, something that helps all the people and is fair and more just and – it’s hard, because the War Boys don’t know anything but what they were born and trained to do, and nobody’s healthy, and there’s only so much anyone can do. There’s water, but not a whole lot, and it still needs to be rationed, but she doesn’t want to have full control of it, wants the Citadel to be _different_ than it was before, so –

So when Max does show up, months after he did all he did for them, she can’t help but give him a small smile as he follows Capable into her office area, at least until she _looks_ at him. He looks on edge, about to fall, somewhat crazed, and she flicks her gaze to Capable before looking back at him, his eyes trained on the floor near her chair.

“Max?” she asks, tensing her muscles just in case. She trusts him, but it’s been _months_ , who knows what might’ve happened in that time? He slides his eyes to meet hers, opens his mouth.

“Can I?” he gestures toward the spot, and she feels an odd sense of relief wash over her, and she nods toward the empty floor with a whispered “yeah” and he falls toward it, pressing his cheek to her thigh. She rests her hand there, gently grasping the back of his neck with her fingers, taking in a deep breath.

“Close the door,” she mouths to Capable, who’s watching them with confusion on her face. She nods to Furiosa at that, backing out of the room and shutting the door behind her. Furiosa presses her hand harder against Max’s neck, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes, letting the sense of _something_ fall over her.

***

It’s not something they talk about. Sometimes he shows up, will fall down beside her and press his cheek to her thigh. Sometimes he stays for a few hours, sometimes he stays there for the rest of the day. Sometimes he’ll stay the night, or a couple of nights, before he leaves again.

Some months he shows up more often than others, a couple of times not showing up for a few months again. He always comes back after those months more broken than ever.

Sometimes she writes when he’s there, continues with her work, looking over the small amount of writings Immortan had, letting her arm lay gently on his head.

Sometimes she doesn’t continue with her work when he’s there. Sometimes she sets down her pen, leans back, lets the fingers on her good hand brush through his hair.

Sometimes she reads to him, reads what she’s writing, reads inventory lists. Sometimes she tells him stories from her childhood, or tells him the legends she remembers, about a time when not everyone was sick and the world wasn’t a wasteland.

***

Occasionally he’ll cry while he’s there, pressing his head to her thigh as the tears run out. She’ll press her hand to his scalp, the best comfort she can give, and let him.

Once in a while she’ll cry too, when he’s not looking, letting her own tears run down her face silently.

***

Sometimes, he doesn’t need to stay as long as other times, but she needs him to. Needs to feel the press of his warm skin against her leg, needs to feel the presence of him there by her side, and he’ll stay long after he’s better, carefully watching her until she is, too. Those are usually the times he’ll stay for the night, keeping as careful an eye on her as she does on him.

***

He’s been away for a few months one time when he comes stumbling into her office, bloodstained hands and a broken expression, pressing his face to her stomach and whimpering about regrets and innocent lives. She holds onto him, doesn’t say anything in return. Can’t.

He’s not innocent in this, but she doesn’t know how to say that they’ve all been there, that she’s done that too, that in a world like this, it’s impossible to be good sometimes. Doesn’t know how to explain that to him because it’s something she can’t even explain to herself.

So she doesn’t, just holds him close.

***

He comes more often after that, never lets a month pass before he’s back, and she can’t ever express how grateful she is for that. Even if it’s just for a few hours, or for a day occasionally, it’s enough for him. It’s enough for her, for both of them.

She’s got a lot to do, an incredible amount of work to build the Citadel into a functioning society, a lot of power and pressure on her shoulders as everyone looks to her to be the start of something new and better. Having him there, every couple of weeks, kneeling next to her, _for_ her, lets some of that pressure off. Let’s her relax, unwind the tension that’s built up over the past few weeks.

She doesn’t know how to express it all to him, so she doesn’t.

She figures he knows already anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [asocialfoxpaw](http://asocialfoxpaw.tumblr.com)


End file.
